| Crisp night air-
Cold light from a full moon
suspended in anticipation.
No breeze-
Every living thing
holds its breath in awe.
One star-
None other able to outshine the cold,
fierce brilliance of the moon.
Amber warmth-
Stretches a long tail from
the golden orb in the Eastern sky.
Shivering-
But not from cold, pulling my cloak closer,
humming softly to my flock.
Wondering, watching-
Three dark crowned shadows on the rise,
slowly, determined, Eastward.
Beckoning-
I too must go.
The star-
I must follow the star,
the baby lamb in my cloak,
an offering.
The promise-
We need wait no longer-He has come.
A child, a child.
Merry Christmas to all-Peace, Good Will to Men.
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